Nomance by T Price (read an ebook week txt) 📕

fronds spring back into place. She cringed in the swelteringgreen shade. Had she been spotted? She cursed herself for not beingmore careful and hunkered down lower so that she could squintbetween the leathery leaves of a yucca.

Juliet had begun topace along the pavement, trying to look casual, but she was castingsuspicious glances up and down the empty street.

Carla craned round asfar as she dared, so that she could also scan the street. Therewasn’t another soul in sight. She just couldn’t understand it. Thestreet outside Romance was always crowded with pointlesspedestrians. In the past, she had spent whole days watching aperpetual stream of non customers stroll by. And now, when theycould at least act as witnesses to the movements of Juliet beforeshe murdered her, they didn’t even bother to turn up!

Carla cursed.

Juliet looked morelikely than ever to commit murder. She had gone downhill pretty farsince her divorce from Philip, five months ago, piling the poundson and dressing in cheap sports wear (fighting gear). As usual shewas carrying her large handbag, a piece of boho chic left over froma previous lifestyle and into which you could all-too-easily fit asawn-off shotgun.

The blood pounded inCarla’s ears. Juliet had stopped pacing so as to study the palms,yuccas and ornamental grasses filling the shopfront ofRomance. Inspired by Vietnam, Carla had installed the‘green’ in order to provide cover, and yet she couldn’t helpfeeling that those burning, haunted eyes were able to penetrate itand expose her.

She whimpered andinched back. Too late. Juliet was now crossing the road. Carlascrambled away, crawling through the dense undergrowth of pottedferns till she could stand upright and make a clear dash for thecounter. There was a click at the door. Carla ran like she waswading through mud and hit the counter with a dull thud. Thecounter top was up, but the low swing door below tended to stick onits catch.

It stuck now.

Carla flapped at itlike a circus seal.

The bell over the shopdoor tinkled.

She swung around andpressed herself back against the counter.

Juliet was standing atthe threshold. She swept the scene with a hooded gaze,familiarising herself with the lie of the land.

‘Good morning.’ Shesaid in a low, deliberate voice, just before her blazing eyesrested on Carla. ‘Here again.’

She smiled mechanicallyas she closed the door behind her.

Carla faced her with afrozen smile, while scratching for the catch. It sounded like shewas hiding a rat behind her back.

‘And lovely to see you,I’m sure,’ she answered, a tremor in her voice.

Juliet responded bycoming at her, at a slow, steady pace.

Carla’s hidden ratscrabbled at the catch in wild desperation and suddenly itflipped.

She lurched backwards,almost crashing to the floor as her foot caught on the tub offertiliser. The one she had been meaning to move for the past sixmonths.

‘Shit!’

She brought the countertop down with an almighty bang.

‘Beautiful morning,’she gasped, tottering back against the shelves for support. ‘I’venever known it so quiet.’

Juliet reached thecounter. ‘They’re all on holiday.’ Her voice was robotic.‘Normandy, Algave, Tuscany.’

She stopped dead andwas immobile for a moment. Abruptly, she jerked back to life andbegan to rummage round in her boho bag.

Carla’s heart missed abeat. She had forgotten about the sawn-off shot gun. The sweatprickled at the back of her neck. Her own weapon was in the kitchen– the extra powerful airgun that Gwynne had been so generous as toleave her when he and Louisa moved to Billericay.

Bleeding typical! Likethe pointless pedestrians, Gwynne had buggered off just when, atlong last, he had come in useful for something. I.e. to manhandleJuliet out of the shop whenever she became hysterical.

Carla had been loatheto call the police for help, because by stalking her, Juliet hadbecome one of Romance’s best ever customers. The last thingCarla wanted right now was Juliet locked up where she couldn’t buyanything. Why upset the status quo when she was doing such wondersfor Romance’s balance of payments? Especially when Carla wasstarting to get serious interest from potential buyers.

But Carla had beenplaying a dangerous game. Juliet patronised Romance in thehope that she might one day snatch Porchester. However, if Carlahad locked the baby up in total safety then Juliet would not haveany reason to visit the shop. Carla, therefore, had positionedPorchester, in his buggy, on a spot behind the counter where Julietcould see, but not reach him. Even so, she had added a stockade ofselected cacti after a close call – maternal craving had once gotthe better of Juliet and she had jumped the counter. That’s whenGwynne had stepped in and got her into an arm lock before marchingher out of the shop. He would defend that kid to the death, hesaid.

With a twenty per centstake in the final sale of Porchester for adoption, whowouldn’t?

Except, true to form,Gwynne hadn’t died trying to protect Porchester. He had marriedLouisa instead, and gone to live in Billericay. Carla wasn’t sayinghe’d taken easy way out, but it did mean she might have to dieinstead of him . . .

Juliet was stillgroping around in her bag. Perhaps she couldn’t get her fingerround the trigger. Meanwhile the corner of her red-rimmed eye wasfixed on the empty spot where the buggy used to stand.

Carla swallowed.Perhaps she had already pushed Juliet too far.

Today the kid was outof sight, under lock and key in her bedroom. Juliet would need togun her way into the shop to get him. But perhaps that was theplan, because she still didn’t know that Gwynne was gone, and Carlahad to concede that a sawn-off shot gun would be her weapon ofchoice if Gwynne was the obstacle.

The sweat burned onCarla’s skin. She wanted to run, but her legs wouldn’t move.

Juliet’s arm jerked outof the boho bag and a silvery object flashed in her hand.

Carla shrieked.

‘Gorgeous, isn’t it?’Juliet grated. She was holding a designer purse made of metal.‘Exclusive to Chrysalis.’

Carla didn’t understandwhat this meant, but that didn’t matter – she could see it didn’tfire bullets and that was the main thing.

Now that she was notdefinitely going to die, Carla asked, ‘Is there anything Ican get you?’

The monotonous, gratingvoice began at once.

‘I’ll have a pot mum,the red. A tray of pansies. A Busy Lizzie. A can